Your ExLover
by Princess180
Summary: Harry and Ron, Harry and Ginny, Ginny and Blaise, Ginny and Brendon, or is it Brent? Ten years after the fact, a reflection. WARNING: This story contains SLASH. That is MALEMALE romantic relationship. PLEASE don't flame me about that, as I will report you


A/N: I would really appreciate anything you have to say about this one. I enjoyed writing it, but it's a real departure for me, so I want as much concrit as possible. WARNING: SLASHITY SLASH SLASH! Not mine. 

**98. Yield**

_I'm not sorry I met you_

_I'm not sorry it's over_

_I'm not sorry there's nothing to say_

Stars, Your Ex-Lover Is Dead

Ginny had known she was going to her mother's for lunch the next morning, and she had still stayed out dancing until four in the morning. She had known her mother would ask her if there was a man in her life yet, and she'd still invited Bradley (or was it Bill, or maybe Brandon?) home with her the night before. And she'd known damn well she had to be at her mother's by quarter to one, and she'd still slept until twelve-thirty.

She had, she checked her watch, thirteen minutes to kick Bill-Bradley-Brandon out of her bed, get dressed in something that would pass muster, and perhaps make herself look awake. She woke B-B-B up by putting a coffee next to him heavily, already in her underwear, and half plunging into her closet by the time he'd sat up. By the time he had reached out for the coffee and realized that this was perhaps not the most pleasant of morning-afters, she was already wearing a long black skirt and struggling into a spaghetti-strap top that must have been three sizes too big, while searching for that bulky black sweater she knew she'd hurled to the left (past her shoes, but not behind those black robes she'd worn to work) when she'd worn it out last Tuesday.

"Look, last night was nice," she said, grabbing the sweater and trying to find her boots with the other hand, "but I've really got to go, and I don't know you in any sense but the biblical, so if you could get out of my house? That'd be nice," laying a hand on one boot she shoved her foot into it as she swiveled to look at the rather fetching blond. He was nice looking; perhaps she'd get a name so she could call him up sometime. No, last guy she'd asked had wanted one back and that hadn't been Ginny's style since the serial monogamist days of her teens.

"Seems a bit rushed, doesn't it?" he asked, in a Scottish accent. She didn't exactly remember his being Scottish, but it fit with her type – men she was unlikely to run into on the street.

"Just, get up, OK?" She snapped, pulling the sweater on and grabbing a hairbrush and a hair band. "I'm sure you're a really nice person, and very, um, talented, but I've really got to go. I'm meeting someone, well, really nineteen someones, for lunch, and again, you're really quite pleasant but you're not coming. And for all I know you're Tom Riddle in trick glasses, so, um, pants on and out the door."

"Seems reasonable, are we going to um…" he gestured loosely towards the bed, "again?"

"Probably not," Ginny answered, whipping her hair up and digging around for her lipstick, applying it without looking and wondering, abstractedly, about her lip line, before deciding it was all going to come off the second she was confronted with six siblings, six spouses and seven nieces and nephews. B-B-B got up just as Ginny was considering eyeliner and deciding against it in favor of a cup of coffee.

"Well, um, nice meeting you then," he said.

Why, Ginny wondered as she held the door open for him and pulled her coat on, was this always so awkward?

"Up," Harry heard as soon as the sound of shower stopped, "Mum's going to want us there a half-hour early."

"I remember," Harry mumbled into his pillow, "I remember when my boyfriend used to be a sweetheart who kissed me until I woke up."

"And I," Ron said, kissing Harry on the top of the head perfunctorily, "remember a time before I knew that no one else would have you. Up, you lazy git." Harry rolled over, the sheets pooling at his waist and noticed that Ron was already getting clothes for both of them out of the drawers. "No more leather at Mum's, she wasn't pleased last time."

"I'd forgotten we were going to lunch," Harry mumbled, sitting up in bed. Ron threw a pair of boxers at him.

"Pants, love," Ron said, "remember last week?" Harry nodded meekly, though a little disappointed, and slid the underwear on below the sheet before standing up and wrapping his arms around Ron's slender waist, pressing soft kisses to the freckled back. "That's not going to work. It's enough for Fred and George that I'm gay, they don't like to know I'm having sex, too."

"You weren't wearing a sign," Harry pointed out, kissing Ron's neck rather insistently, "they just sort of assumed we'd had sex because of the shit-eating grin on your face."

"And was it a pleasant experience?" Ron asked, peeling Harry off and presenting him with a blue dress shirt and Muggle slacks.

"The sex bit wasn't completely unendurable," Harry said, in a tone that implied that he had only fond memories of the 'sex bit'. "I suppose the twins were a bit, well, grating. Is Hermione coming today?"

"I'm not sure, she Flooed yesterday while you were out, but she had to go before I could ask," Ron said, shrugging his undershirt on and sliding the small, gold pendant Harry had given him for his eighteenth birthday under it. Harry noticed Ron's hand lingering over the tiny ruby as it normally did, Harry had offered to replace the little piece a million times, with something grander, manlier or at least less miniscule, but Ron had refused each and every time, and the tiny broomstick stayed around his neck. Harry put on his own shirt while Ron kept talking, absentmindedly fingering the silver ring Ron had given him last Christmas as he undid the cuffs. "I think Allie's been giving them trouble again," Harry grinned to think of his tiny goddaughter.

"Pity, I'd absolutely love to see her," Harry murmured, "maybe for dinner later in the week?" Ron nodded, looking in the mirror and running a hand through his hair, then nodding, apparently satisfied.

"We shouldn't be so very busy," Ron said, settling beside his lover on the bed, and resting his head on Harry's shoulder. "We should be going. I promised Mum we'd help with the cooking."

"Five more minutes?" Harry asked, winding a hand about Ron's waist, like he did every Sunday morning before they left for the Burrow. Depending on whether either of them had woken up early enough for shag, Ron would answer.

"Don't tempt me," Ron said, and sliding his own arms around Harry, Apparated them both to their old room at the Burrow.

"Hi," Ron said, and hugged his sister, Harry was standing just behind him, and hugged Ginny as well, but quickly, and as soon as he pulled back he had his hand tangled with Ron's. He always did that when he touched her, or spoke to her or looked at her for a second more than was strictly required. It was the one thing that made Ginny imagine that it might have worked out between them.

"Hello," Ginny replied, a moment too late for everyone's tastes. She knew Ron was still half-jealous of her, though what reason he had ever had she couldn't imagine. Her brother had been the first person to love Harry back in his entire life, he had been the only person Harry had ever known who hadn't gone in with any expectations. Ginny was just a poor, desperate little girl in need of saving. Oh, she imagined that Harry had loved her, or had at least believed that he had, but there was no question. "You're here early."

"And you're a touch late," Harry replied, and she noticed that Ron's hand tightened on Harry's. Ginny knew Ron hated it when Harry noticed things like that, and she knew it because she used to be the jealous one – though Harry had been noticing more delicate things about Ron. Not the fact that he'd sprinted halfway through the house and was sweat-drenched and gasping for air. More the subtle tired look around his eyes, things like that, things that made Ginny realize that she'd already lost far before she gave up the game.

"I had a date last night," she said, and noticed her brother turning towards Harry, his neck snapping in the direction of the brunette. "Ran a little late if you get my meaning." She gave her most lascivious smile before turning to leave. That should comfort Ron, Harry had only laughed and cuddled a little closer to Ron, reading his emotions as well as Ginny had.

Ginny didn't like to think about she and Harry often, things had finally settled down after a turbulent few years, and at twenty, she was finally over her first crush. It still stung a little to watch them, lounging together on the sofa as they did after brunch. Ron had been permanently impaired by a curse during the war; he should have died, and would have, if it hadn't been for Hermione. The only lasting result was that he tired easily, it prevented him from having a regular job, and was, she suspected, the only reason he and Harry never talked about adoption, Harry assumed Ron couldn't take the stress.

But the way that the second Ron leaned in a little towards Harry, Harry whispered in his ear – probably asking if he wanted to go home – then maneuvered so Ron's head rested in his lap and let him close his eyes while he ran his hands through the other man's hair was still a little heartbreaking. She didn't suppose Harry had ever looked at her in quite that way. But, really, she didn't mind – if Harry had been straight, or in love with her, or at least not in love with Ron, she imagined she would have had two, maybe three kids by now. She didn't want that, and didn't know if she ever really had.

When Harry had children, and she knew he would, he would be an excellent father. But her? She would have made a terrible mother. She was flighty, and a little silly. She loved her work too much, loved the thrill of being an Auror, while Harry had never wanted to do anything but what he felt was needed. She liked the adventure for the sense of it, loved the way her blood chilled when someone's wand was at her throat. Ginny was blood, mud and sex, as Blaise, her only long-term love interest had once said. Harry was home cooking, and blankets on a winters night and a good deal of cuddling – it would never have worked out.

Ginny watched how Ron curled slightly closer to Harry in his sleep, how Harry always had one eye on Ron, even safe and slumbering in his own mother's sitting room. She could never have been that for Harry, she preferred what she had. Her one-night club stands, and her Slytherin boy to fall back on when times were rough. Blaise was a sweetheart, and he didn't want a relationship that was about anything other than companionship and lust either, which she appreciated. Maybe, in a few years, when they were both too old for all of their partying and fighting, they'd settle down, live together to please their parents. Or maybe, Ginny thought, she'd be fifty and still bringing home men whose names she wasn't quite clear on, and loving it.

But Harry? Harry had his boy, he'd have his babies and he'd have his life – almost exactly the way she'd seen it laid out before them when she was sixteen, just with Ron taking her role – and playing it better than she ever could have.

Ginny had planned on spending the evening alone, but Blaise was in her living room, stark-naked, drinking tea, when she got home.

"Had a man over last night, did you, darling?" He asked, looking up at her.

"Don't you guilt me," she said, giggling a little as she took her coat off, "I saw you with that blonde last week. Something go wrong there? I thought you'd take her to Milan with you this week."

"See, here's the thing, Ginny, my sweet – the blonde was a nice piece of ass, but thick as two planks, so I went to Milan alone. But the problem is, my Italian is complete crap, leaving me unable to properly seduce anyone but flighty tourists. And so, as I was having a dry spell, I came back to my best girl."

"You've been gone two days," Ginny said, shucking her clothes off as well, she knew perfectly well what was coming and she and Blaise were old hands at the formalities. It was nice to just jump to the quick of things, as it were. "That's hardly what the rest of us consider a dry spell. And don't you flatter me, Zabini."

"Well, I won't then," he said, putting down the tea and pulling her onto his lap. "You, too, are a lovely piece of ass, and almost as intelligent as I am, and therefore I am back. Please fuck me before I do something desperate?"

"A lovely piece of ass? You'll have to do just a little better than that to get me in your pants," Ginny giggled, swiveling her hips a little.

"I'm not wearing pants," he pointed out sensibly, tracing one dark hand up her side. "Oh, come on, darling, I've got to go in an hour – let's hurry this up, and I'll bring you something nice?"

"Shiny?" She asked, a glint in her eye. Blaise was a designer, and a fabulously rich one at that, and he had the absolute best taste in jewelry.

"For you? Whatever you want," he said impassively, and finally kissed her properly. She knew he didn't mean it, though she also knew he would bring her back a few pieces from his new collection, as he always did.

No, things really weren't so bad, considering.

"Asleep, love?" Harry asked, quietly, slipping into bed beside Ron. The only response he got was a snore. "Of course you are," he smiled a little at the familiar sound, unable to imagine a night without Ron after a decade of sharing a room one way or another. He kissed the back of Ron's neck, one of his favorite places, before sliding an arm around Ron, pulling him a little closer before he, too, went to sleep.


End file.
